Plaything
by BearandtheBow
Summary: Evie was only trying to survive, but a bad judgement call led her to man who had been wanting a little side-project, a new game to play. (tw's for noncon, dubcon, mentions of violence etc.)
1. Chapter 1

**Something to do over my winter break. Story takes place during the Dark Knight rises, a couple months after Gotham is cut off from the world.**

Two shadowy figures in the distance, rifles accompanying their vague outlines. Sentinels. Evie quickly slipped into a nearby alley to wait for them to pass. Another set of footsteps could be heard opposite from the guards – a more brisk walker. They stopped a few feet from her. She heard a click, a faint smell of cigarette smoke following. The guards continued toward them. Not keen on watching someone die in front of her (again), Evie bravely poked her head out, peering around the corner. A man leaned against the brick just outside the alley, taking leisurely drags of his cigarette, watching the smoke he blew out mingle with the added steam of his breath against the cold air.

"Hey." She whispered.

The man's head snapped toward her.

"They're coming. It's past curfew – you need to hide." She urged.

Though his features were largely hidden in the faint light of the streetlamps, Evie could tell he was smiling – as if he found her words amusing. Definitely not the panic she expected.

The footsteps were clearer now – you could hear the crunch of the snow under their feet. Exasperated, Evie reached out, grabbing the strangers arm and yanking him into the alley with her.

"Die on your own time." She hissed.

With the cigarette still between his lips, the man let out a muffled chuckle, the glowing tip reflecting in his glasses, before stepping back out into the sidewalk. The guards were right on top of them, and Evie froze as she heard them draw up their weapons. She braced herself for the gunshots, the blood.

"Evening gentlemen." The man said calmly.

"Crane?" Asked one of the guards. "Shit man, we coulda blown you away." They lowered their rifles.

Evie's heart stopped. Crane. She knew that name. Everyone did – especially now – where he was known as the Judge; sending people to their deaths on the ice of the river.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, boys. You can move along now."

"Yes sir." Evie watched in shock as the guards turned on their heels. Crane watched them go, taking one last drag on his cigarette before flicking it onto the snowy street.

"You can come out now." He said softly.

Slowly, cautiously, Evie walked out of her hiding place. "Thanks for not...you know."

"You aren't a person worth killing."

An austere compliment, to be sure. "Well, um, thanks again." Savior or not, Evie wanted to get away from him. She continued her walk.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"Home." Her mouth felt dry. "I was only supposed to be out a minute for food, and, not to sound cliche, but people are probably really worried about me right now-"

"Would you rather they be worried, or devastated?" he interrupted.

"Excuse me?" She asked nervously.

"There will be a dozen or more sentinels on your way home – all with," he smiled, "rather itchy trigger fingers."

"Well I think I'll just avoid trying to play the hero from now on. I'll be fine."

Crane's odd smile faded, and Evie found herself rooted to the ground as he took a few long strides to where she stood.

"Nonsense." He said. She could see his eyes now – even in semidarkness, they were a bright, clear blue, and uncomfortably intense. "My home is right here. Your 'people' will be fine for the night." He put his hand on the small of Evie's back, guiding her across the street to a row of rather nondescript stone houses. He pushed her up the steps to one covered in dead vines, and through the door, where she was met with warmth for the first time that season. He locked the door behind them.

The place reminded Evie of a college professors office – all brown leather and ambient lighting, books on every available surface, maps on the walls, odds and ends strewn about. She lingered awkwardly in the doorway before Crane gestured her to the living room.

"Please, have a seat."

She quickly obeyed, selecting one of the squishy armchairs. "Was this your home before?" She cautiously asked.

"It was not." Crane said stiffly, removing his coat and placing it on a hook near the door. He wore a rather disheveled suit underneath, the seams in one arm were completely ripped, frayed polyester and padding sticking out through the opening. He removed that as well, folding it and setting it over the back of a chair. "My home was eventually sold when they sent me away. I had briefly thought to take it back, but..." He joined her in the living room, sitting on the coffee table in front of of her, "I came across this place instead. For the most part, it was already settled into the way I always wanted."

"Oh...Where are the people who lived here before?"

He shrugged. "Maybe dead, maybe in hiding. Perhaps they were fortunate enough to be on vacation when everything happened. In any case, they aren't here."

Crane obviously looked older and more haggard than the pictures of him shown in the paper every now and again, and in her cousins criminology and psych textbooks. His hair was graying a bit, he sported stubble, but he still retained the familiar full lips and high cheekbones. Looks aside, he had such a strange quality about him – almost as if he were high, but not quite. Eccentric was the word, or close to it, Evie supposed. Crane caught her staring, and gave her a brief once over, causing her cheeks to burn up, and then frowned.

"I forgot to ask you to remove your coat. Would you please?"

She nodded, bringing her shaking hands up to loop the toggles out before unzipping her jacket, unceremoniously shrugging it off and handing it to Crane. He quickly took it and walked back to the doorway, hanging it next to his. She decided to remove her hat as well, shaking out a mess of dark blonde curls. Turning back to her, he smiled, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"What did you do before the 'revolution' started?"

"I went to school." She said plainly. Evie wished she could just leave.

"Gotham University, I assume?"

"Ha." she said nervously. "High school. I was supposed to start 11th. Still hoping for the chance to finish."

Crane's amused expression suddenly contained mild surprise. "You carry yourself much older."

There was a familiar statement. Since she was young, people had always called Evie an "old soul", but men always seemed to say it differently. They would use it as flattery, tell her she was different, and that she needed someone "on her level" (meaning older) to try to justify their attraction to her. They wanted her to say she didn't care, or that age was just a number, but Evie always saw past it. These, however, always came from men who knew her age but pursued her anyway – here was a situation with a man who clearly expressed interest before learning how old she was. An interesting first, except that she did want any part of this particular man's attention.

Crane sat back down in front of her, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat under his steely gaze.

"So," she began slowly, "am I sleeping in here?"

"There's a room upstairs you can sleep in. It actually rather looks like it belonged to a teenage girl."

"Okay."

He glanced at the clock. "Barely 9:30." He murmured. "A little early to be turning in, considering there's no school."

"Please, I don't want you to think I'm not grateful to you – I really am -" Evie rambled, "but, it's just – I don't know you."

"But you know of me." He leaned forward, his blue eyes burning into her amber ones. "That has been all too obvious since you heard that guard state my name." His smile grew wider. "You're scared, aren't you?"

"Who wouldn't be?" she breathed, swallowing down the panic that was quickly building up inside her.

"Fair enough. What is your name?"

"Evie." She said nervously.

"I'm going to be very forward with you, Evie." He continued to stare her down. "I had rather hoped for some interesting conversation at the very least, in return for saving you from certain death. I admit that for a brief moment I imagined having a warm body to lie next to later, but considering your age, I don't think so.

You needn't look at me like that. I am just a man - one who simply wants to live out the last of his days with a few...creature comforts."

Eager to steer to conversation away from from his "creature comforts", Evie quickly asked "Are you dying?"

"We are all dying, Evie." His smile reverted to a knowing smirk.

"I meant are you ill? Terminal?"

"I know what you meant. I meant what I said."

Evie regarded him quizzically. "That we're all going to die?"

"Yes." He stated. "And quite soon."

"Are you talking about the bomb?"

"Sure, Or not. You understand that this place has been building momentum toward mass hysteria, leading to shootings, suicides..." He suddenly got up from his perch on the coffee table to stretch out on the sofa. "One way or another, this city will burn - folding in on itself - and everyone will go down with it. It's just a matter of when."

Like most of the citizens, Evie was hoping that everything would turn out right in the end. Someone would save them – the government, the Batman, maybe even the people of Gotham itself would counter-revolt against this twisted revolution. Someone had to save them.

Crane sighed. "My apologies for upsetting you. Maybe you should go to bed." He sat back up, loosening his tie. "Would you like some tea first? Have you eaten?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Evie struggled to be polite, even attempting a smile. "Where is the room?"

"Upstairs. The blue one." He stared down at the table, selecting a book from the corner.

Evie rose up from her seat and quietly made her way up the stairs. The blue room was at the end of the hall, and it definitely looked like it belonged to a girl close to her age – except this girls parents were apparently cool enough to give her a large bed and a TV. It was a dream room – complete with twinkle lights and a reading nook built into the window.

She carefully picked through the dresser, hoping to find something to sleep in. She found a pair of sweats, but being in a place with actual working heat had been making her feel almost sickly warm. Underwear and a large tee would be fine, for sure – every girl had a large shirt laying around just for sleeping in. One was stashed in the next drawer down; a soft, gray extra-large.

Kicking off her boots and removing her clothes, Evie quickly yanked the tee over her head. _Might even be able to leave her with some new, clean clothes_, she thought to herself. She opened the closet – a walk-in (damn, this other girl was spoiled) and a quick glance through the clothes informed her that they wore the same sizes in most things – most importantly, pants (pants without rips in the knees and friction holes in the thighs). School uniforms took up a small potion of the hanging space. Of course she went to a private school. Evie walked back into the room and to the vanity, where more string lights were hung, accompanied by photos. She wondered which girl in the pictures was the one this room belonged to.

But she didn't dwell on the though for very long, before pulling open the drawer and withdrawing a hairbrush. Evie stared hardly at herself as he brushed out each of her curls. She looked like shit – her features had become more gaunt over the last several weeks, her lips were chapped and she the lavender circles under her eyes seemed to grow darker even as she stared at them. At least her hair had now managed to look decent. Evie rummaged through the rest of the drawers, only finding makeup (expensive makeup). She noticed another door next to the one that led into the hallway – surely it went to a bathroom.

It did, and in the cabinets Evie found everything she was lacking – facial cleansers and new toothbrushes and every kind of toning-moisturizer-face-cream she could think of. She glanced over at the shower, which she could seen contained fancy shampoo and body wash and even a razor. A razor. God – Evie hadn't had a decent shower or smooth legs in what felt like a lifetime. The idea of a hot shower was more tempting than anything.

She settled for a quick face wash with a fancy sugar scrub, an added blackhead strip just for fun. She brushed her teeth five times just because she could, enjoying the feel of the stiff bristles of the new toothbrush, and then decided she could still shave – slathering herself with liberal amounts of body butter that smelled like raspberries and cream to do so and then putting on more when she finished. Evie came out of the bathroom feeling ten times better than she had ever felt her life. She had almost forgot about the strange Dr. Crane, who brought her here under rather odd circumstances. With the thought now at the front of her mind, she slipped on the sweats she had left of the bed and quietly crept out the door. The lights appeared to be off downstairs. She turned to go back into the room, but it suddenly hit her how hungry she was – when was the last time she ate? Breakfast? Quietly, she descended the stairs, feeling the walls for a switch. There was one around the corner, and with it the living room light came back on. She went through the next doorway, flicking on another light, eventually finding her way to the kitchen. There wasn't a mass abundance of food, but Crane had a more comfortable amount of it that Evie had seen in a while. She settled for a muffin from the counter, so she wouldn't have to linger downstairs for him to catch snooping around.

She made her way back to the blue room, turning the lights back off until she found herself in darkness again. Evie found the room and swiftly locked the door behind her (apparently rich parents have a better understanding of privacy?) and went back to the closet, grabbing a pair of jeans, a few shirts, the thickest sweater. She decided she couldn't stay – she would stick around an hour or so more until she felt sure he wouldn't get in her way, but she definitely wouldn't be sleeping here. What had she even been thinking? Spending the night at the Scarecrow's place - she wasn't that naive or desperate. Surely the offer of a heated house and a nice bed shouldn't have allowed the situation to slip past her judgment like that. She shook her head. _Stupid._

Still, it couldn't hurt to lay down for a moment. She set the clothes down on the dresser and fell onto the bed, enjoying how the silky duvet felt against her now-smooth legs. Letting out a deep sigh, she looked out the window and waited for the time to pass.


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't mean to fall asleep.

Evie heard mumbling. She groggily opened her eyes, inwardly cursing herself for drifting off. It was still pitch out though; she couldn't have been asleep for very long, right? She panicked when she realized the light in the room had been turned off, almost bolting upright in the bed, but the mumbling started again. She froze when she realized what it was – Crane's voice. He was in the room with her, standing over the bed, facing her back.

"Why are you here. What are you doing. What are you doing here, Jon?" She heard him murmur; she wondered if he was drunk. He sat at the edge, reaching over to tuck a curl behind her ear. Evie held her breath.

Goosebumps covered her body as his hand traveled along the curve of her side. He continued to hover over the girl for a few minutes, before climbing the rest of the way into bed with her. His body molded against hers like a shell, arms wrapping around her waist, brushing her sides to rest on her belly. He let out a long, pleased sigh as he rested his head against her shoulder, causing the hairs on the nape of her neck to stand on end.

"You don't have to pretend to be asleep, Evie."

"This...moment seems awkward enough." she said starkly.

"You wore a surprising lack of clothes for someone sharing a floor with a strange, known madman."

Embarrassment flooded her.

Crane continued. "Especially one who admitted he would have very much liked to have sex with you."

Evie was in no way prepared for the embarrassment to get so worse so soon.

"Have you ever even had sex?" He asked. "People say every girl is giving it up in middle school, but that seems a little...hyperbolic, don't you?"

Now thoroughly mortified, Evie could only stay silent, hoping he would leave her alone soon.

But he didn't.

He sighed. His hand drifted down to the waistband of Evie's underwear, causing her to blush. She was sure it was a trick – he wanted a reason to chide her again, but instead he slipped his fingers underneath. Evie gasped as he ran them down her slit.

"You said -" Crane clapped his free hand over her mouth before she could finish.

"This isn't...hurting you." He asserted – a statement that felt directed more toward himself than Evie. He worked his fingers against her. "Oh god, you're getting wet so fast." He groaned, and she whimpered as she felt a finger enter her, then another, his thumb moving in tight circles around her clit. She had hardly had the time to register what was happening to her when she came, her back arching against him as her lower body became unbearably hot and tingly, the edges of her vision going dark. The feeling soon passed, and she went limp in his arms, gasping, weakly pulling his hand off her face.

But Crane wasn't done with her. He rolled Evie onto her back, quickly sliding her soaked underwear down her legs before settling between them, taking her face in his hands and kissing her deeply. Evie didn't know what to do – she didn't want to be here, she didn't want any if this happening to her, but the thought of him turning violent on her seemed even more terrifying. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. She wanted to beg him to stop and let her go, and in that moment a million pleas ran through her mind, but the first one to make it out was "I'm scared."

I came out ten more times – a dozen – spilling from her lips like water from a faucet. "I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm so scared."

"Shh..." Crane silenced her with another kiss, gently stroking her hair. "Please don't be scared. I'll take care of you. Please don't be afraid of me."

Oddly enough, he sounded as close to tears as she, confusing Evie for a moment, but the confusion was soon replaced with panic as she felt his cock nosing at her entrance. She dug her heels into the mattress in an attempt to get away. A weak attempt – she hit the headboard in seconds.

"Please, I'm scared." She whimpered; a last-ditch effort to see if he would pity her enough to stop.

He kissed her again, and she felt sick as he started to slip inside her. Evie squirmed underneath him, still desperate for a way out, when his hips suddenly snapped forward, burying his length inside her. Tears welled up in her eyes, soon spilling onto her cheeks – she couldn't stop them.

"Take it out." She sobbed. "Please take it out it hurts too much."

For a second, she thought he listened: he slowly began to withdraw from her, only to slowly push back in. He kept up the antagonizing pace while he kissed her neck, ran his hands through her hair, eventually pushing her shirt up so he could fondle and suck her breasts. Evie laid very still as the assault continued, but began to worry that at the rate he was going, the torture would go on forever. She wanted him to finish and get off of her – she just wanted to go home.

Her shaking arms encircled her attacker, pulling him close until his body was flush against hers.

"I'm okay now." She lied.

It worked. Crane enthusiastically quickened his pace, the thrusts becoming more erratic – some shallow, other so hard and deep she had to bite her tongue from crying out. He wrapped an arm under her hips, pulling her even closer, going even deeper. Breathing heavily into her neck, he moved forcefully for a few minutes, the wrought-iron frame of the bed violently smacking against the wall, before his body suddenly seized up and he stopped, panting and sweaty on top of her. Cold horror washed over Evie when she realized he had come inside of her.

She waited for him to get off if her, then quickly rolled out of bed, his cum streaking down her thighs as she staggered to the bathroom. She didn't bother to lock the door behind her, what did it matter? It didn't stop him before. Turning the water on as hot as she could stand, Evie stepped into the shower, gabbing a bristle brush and scrubbing herself raw, almost using the entire bottle of body wash hoping to get the smell of him off of her. The shower nozzle was detachable, she noticed – she put it between her legs, letting the water jet inside of her, hoping to flush out any trace of where he had been.

She sank into the floor for the last few minutes, willing herself to cry. Evie didn't want to break down in front her family, have them know what happened to her – it was better that they didn't know. There was nothing to be done about it anyway: Just basing on what she knew of him, his obvious ties to the people running things now, attacking him would be too dangerous to risk.

The tears wouldn't come, leaving Evie with not choice but to turn the water off and get out.

She clutched the towel to her as she re-entered the bedroom. He was gone, but his absence proved much more terrifying than if he had still been in the bed. Not wanting to waste time, Evie went to vanity where she set the clothes she took from the closet earlier. She hurriedly dressed and then sat down to lace up her boots.

The house was eerily silent. Evie's ears kept pricking up, trying to detect any sound, any indication of where Crane was, but got nothing. Outside was overcast, but the sky clearly looked lighter – technically safe to go home. As quietly as she could manage, she sneaked her way down the stairs and to the doorway. His suit jacket and coat were gone. Perhaps he had left. She pulled one arm through her own coat and reached for the handle. Locked. She undid the deadbolt but it still refused to open. Tried the windows, but they didn't budge. Evie remembered doors in the kitchen. One of them would lead her outside. _I should steal some food from this douchebag anyway_, thought Evie. She finished buttoning her coat and walked to the next room, stuffed her pockets with muffins, then opened her bag to stuff some cans and cereal inside. Satisfied, she walked out of the pantry and tried the back door. Locked – seemingly from the outside – as well. Evie frowned. He wanted to play games? She could play.

Stalking back to the living room, she headed strait to the fireplace, grabbing a poker. The window by the door was just big enough for her to squeeze trough. Taking a batters stance, Evie prepared to break it open.

"I wouldn't."

Surprised, Evie dropped the poker, causing bit to clatter rather loudly on the tile. She whirled around to face Crane. He was dressed for the day, in his same haggard suit, still unshaven and hair slightly mussed.

"Am I free to leave or what?" She asked impatiently.

"Of course." He stepped past her. "But first, walk with me a minute." He stood in front of the door, making sure Evie couldn't see what exactly he did to open it.

Placing her thumbs under the straps of her now-heavy backpack, she hoisted it up to a more comfortable position as she walked outside into the morning drizzle. She quickly contemplated running, but running in wet snow was an ill-advised venture. She had no idea how fast he was on foot, and was still fearful of provoking a more volatile side of him. Evie stared at the sidewalk as she waited for Crane to join her, walking a step behind as he led the way to...wherever it was they were going.

"So, I'm assuming your family hasn't had the best luck in finding food, judging by how much you stole from my pantry."

"Lots of people haven't had good access to food." She replied dryly. "The rations that are brought in aren't enough to feed everyone."

He looked over his shoulder at her. "What if I could help with that?"

"I'd say 'you can't get something for nothing'."Evie snorted. "So, what would this help with food be in exchange for?"

"You." He said simply.

"Um, sorry, but my family would rather have me home and starve."

Even though she couldn't see his face, she could tell Crane was smiling.

"That's too bad – because the other option I'll offer is to let them continue to think you're dead, with the added unpleasantness of starving."

Evie stopped. "Threaten me as much as you want – I'm not staying with you. Why would I after what you did to me?"

He stopped as well, turning toward her and smiling. "There's no need to act like you didn't enjoy yourself."

Evie saw red. "I didn't." She said through clenched teeth. "Who would have?"

Crane's expression clouded. "You're lying."

"Why would I lie to you?"

She flinched as Crane approached her. He wasn't the most physically intimidating person, but given Evie's small frame and stature, he positively towered over her.

"You're a liar." He whispered. "I heard you – I felt you – you wanted me."

"I did what I had to to get you off of me." Evie hissed.

Crane glared at her, taking a deep breath to attempt to compose himself. "Maybe you should come with me today. See what influence I have. Or perhaps," he stroked her cheek, "I can show you what I used to do to people. I'm sure you know all about that from somewhere. A documentary, or some adorable..._high school_ psych class. I would rather not, of course. Not to you." His thumb brushed across her lower lip.

His touch made her skin crawl, and the way he always spoke so softly, no matter how angry he seemed, was absolutely unnerving.

"You don't think I can get away from you?" she challenged.

"I would find you if you did."

"How, exactly?" Evie snorted. "You don't know a thing about me – my family, my school, where I live – I didn't even tell you my last name."

"An hours worth of obstacles at best. You could take off running down the street right now, I won't stop you. I would even wait two, three hours before sending anyone after you – not that it would matter. You would be back on my doorstep before lunch. That is how embarrassingly easy it would be to find you, Evie."

Crane turned back around, continuing their walk. Evie quickly contemplated his words. She was sure he was bluffing...but really only about how long he would wait to send someone for her. What if someone followed her home? He could definitely use her family as leverage then. How long could she bum around the city for until she could be sure she wasn't being followed? Realizing her stark lack of options, Evie reluctantly followed.


	3. Chapter 3

Evie spent the day flagged by guards, sitting in the courtroom of Judge Crane and watching – horrified – as people lost their lives, dozens more waiting for the same bleak fate. Some were "exiled" to the river, some taken just outside the building for execution, a few shot directly in the courtroom, their corpses promptly dragged into the courtyard where they were thrown into pits.

Crane looked entirely nonplussed by the violence and gore, hardly blinking an eye at it all. He rather seemed to enjoy his role in the chaos, having power over who died. Evie felt sick to her stomach at the thought of staying with such a man, but sicker still wondering what he could (and likely would) do if he got near her family.

A few hours passed, and he collected her from the guards.

"Have you been enjoying the show?" He asked.

"How can you...?" she didn't have the words to finish the statement, but her knew all too well what she was thinking of him, of this.

"That is entirely the wrong way of looking at this, Evie." Crane replied. "You think this is cruel, yes? You think these killings are senseless, don't you? That we're doing it for fun? Stirring the pot of anarchy?"

Evie remained silent.

"That is so...beautifully naïve of you, and the thousands of other blindly idealistic folk like you in this town – but I think you should take a closer look. See the files on these atrocious fat cats that sit in that chair. They own companies that push the sick from their hospital beds to save a few bucks, kick whole families out onto the street by the dozen, lure the less fortunate into sighing loan contracts that are almost no more ethical than share-cropping.

No doubt you were told that the downfall of Gotham was the result of organized crime, mob bosses and their thugs, a few dirty cops – it wasn't. They all played a part, to be sure, but the real perpetrators, Evie, the ones who plunged this city into the cesspool of crime and poverty you have always known...you can find in the pit, or sinking to the bottom of the river."

His eyes burned strait through her as he spoke, causing her heart to race, then he paused to grab her arm, leading her up the stairs and through a hall.

"I am not bothered by what I do here, not a bit." he continued. "These people didn't feel an ounce of shame or pity in them as they made their millions off the destitute - but these are all things we can talk more about later." he turned around. "Do you still need more time to reflect on my offers?"

She shook her head. "Can I say goodbye?" She asked timidly.

Crane smoothly masked his smugness, instead looking almost piteously at her. "You can make a video for them."

"What should I say?" She whispered to herself.

"Whatever you feel is best, I suppose." He gestured another guard over. "Take her to my chambers. Wait outside the door."

Evie walked with him, now numb to the disorder of the courthouse. The man roughly grabbed her arm, pushing her into a room and slamming the door behind her. Like much of the city, the room looked a little worse-for-wear, but still contained furniture – even a desk. Probably the only desk in the building that hadn't been used to construct Crane's unusual perch in the courtroom. She curled herself up on the small sofa on the back of the room, thinking about what she could say to her parents that wouldn't completely devastate them. How she could possibly make them believe she was safe enough to where they wouldn't put themselves in danger for her? There wasn't one really, to be honest. They wouldn't listen. Perhaps they would be better off thinking she was just dead somewhere in the streets.

Evie laid there for several minutes before the door opened, Crane stepping through, carrying a folder, a camcorder, and an apple. He sat the latter two on the table next to her, procuring another apple out of his pocket before taking a seat behind the desk. He took a bite of the fruit, the sound almost ear-splitting in the silence between them, and, smiling directly at her, opened the folder.

"Evelyn Michelle Addams..."

Evie bolted upright at the sound of her name. Her real, full name.

Crane smirked. "I had to do something, Miss Addams, to show you that I wasn't just all talk when I said I could find anything I needed." He pushed his glasses up. "Born February 13th...well, that is a pretty terrible age gap, isn't it? Parents Richard and Emma, little sister Allison...I see you live right off the expressway – lived, I should say – and went to Eastside High School. Not exactly a top scholar..." He continued, Evie still in shock. "You certainly have a flair for math and science though, don't you? You were in orchestra? Oh, I can't wait to hear you play..." Crane flipped the folder shut, getting up from chair and walking over to Evie. He knelt down in front of her, until they were at eye-level. "I think, we've come to a little understanding of one another today, haven't we?" He reached over to pull the side table next to him, picking up the camcorder and opening it up.

"Do you know what to say?"

"Yes." She answered uncertainly.

Crane smirked, turning the camera on and settling it back on the table. Evie took a deep breath.

"Hi mom, dad. I'm alive – yay." She began nervously. "I'm really sorry to do this to you, but this video is goodbye.

Please don't try to find me – don't ask around to see where I'm at, or anything. Just know that I'm ok – I'll be fine – and I've also found someone who can help you out as well, for as long as this whole thing goes on. I love you."

Evie paused. "I don't know if Allie is watching this too, but if she isn't, could you bring her?"

"Hey Al," she gave a watery smile to the camera, "looks like it's just you now. I know, things have been hard – and I was hard on you. I said things I didn't mean. I really didn't mean them, Al, I couldn't. You're scared, I know it – it's okay though. You'll be okay. I'm proud of you, Allie Cat, and I love you...so much." Evie quickly used her sleeve to wipe her eyes before the tears could hit her face. "Be safe. Goodby."

Crane turned the camera off, watching her intently as the flood of emotion she had tried to urge on that morning started coming out. He joined her on the sofa, taking her in his arms. She instinctive pushed him away, only for him to pull her in, until her head rested on his chest.

He took a deep breath and smiled, calmly stroking her hair. The first move had been made.


	4. Chapter 4

Crane was back in his chair, feet propped up on the desk as he went through piles, sorting them into neat little "life" or "death" stacks. Evie had finished her crying fit, a little annoyed at herself for letting him see her so weak – this wasn't the way she wanted to start off this deal. That slip-up put him at an even bigger advantage over her right off the bat and she knew it. For the moment, she just laid there, sulking on the couch.

"How did you find me?" she asked quietly.

Sighing, Crane removed his glasses, then folded his hands in his lap."Internet. School records, initially. You said you had been about to start 11th, so you were already registered. I took a gamble and guessed that you either lived in the area we met, or you at least lived nearby – that narrowed it down to just a handful of schools. I only had to hack into two, though.

Then came your name. When you told it to me, you stopped fidgeting – just for second – which told me that it was real, but you still...hesitated. Not really out of fear, but more of...uncertainty; like you didn't know which name to use. I bet people give you pet names like Eve or Eva, family members who call you Lynnie – either way I figured it was a nickname. Evelyn was my second guess for your name, and once I found you it was a few more clicks to get everything else. Your hospital records, your social security number, your Harry Potter blog..."

He shot her his sly smile as she glared at him from across the room. "You really thought you didn't give me anything to go off of, didn't you?"

Evie grit her teeth. "You know, I really can't wait to die now."

Crane went back to his papers. "Yeah, well don't get your hopes up."

She sighed with the righteous passive-aggression of Liz Lemon. "Why?" There was really no point in avoiding it. He would ramble on without any encouragement anyway – he liked hearing himself talk too much.

"I can leave at any time I want, really – they don't expect me to stick around for the finale to their little revenge mission."

She ignored that bit of bait. "Good for you, but seriously, just leave me here to die."

"Where's the fun in that?" Crane rose from his seat and picked up his jacket. "I wouldn't think to hard about your predicament, Evie – it really is a lost cause. The day isn't out and I am already so far ahead of you, it's almost sad; your family is being watched, and no one around here is going to cross me. Even if it wasn't me they were dealing with, in times like these, no one is about to risk their skin for some nobody girl. You don't have the connections, or useful skills to get out..." he walked over to her, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her up. "I would just make your peace with this."

Trailing behind him, Evie grew depressed thinking back at his words. No escape, no way to really alert her family, stuck with a man who had proven himself to not be as full of shit as she had originally been counting on. What a mess. A mess that started because she had been too stupid and scared to walk away when she had a chance.

There was always a way out though, wasn't there?


	5. Chapter 5

Evie did her best to channel every bit of snark and rage she had in her, determined not to show weakness.

She wasn't afraid to slap his unwanted hand off of her, throw things, or hurl insults. She wanted to act out in any way that she thought she could get away with. One day Crane offhandedly mentioned how he liked her long hair, and she had immediately went to the bathroom and cut it to her chin, not wanting to even remotely resemble something he wanted. The reaction wasn't one she had hoped for. "It's your hair." he said simply. "You're still pretty with less of it.". He had, however, decided after that stunt to round up the remainder of sharp objects in the house. Evie wasn't the brightest opponent, to be sure, but she had demonstrated a decent level of resourcefulness, an added willingness to go to extremes. Attempting to hurt herself or murder him if pushed just so didn't entirely out of the realm of possibility.

Overall, Crane didn't really mind her difficult behavior, for he had hoped his fun little project would fight, and the one she put up was thoroughly amusing. Her anger was similar to the way a cornered animal will behave when they know they have no way out; a bird flailing about in its cage. In the end, that was all Evie was. Not very intellectually stimulating, but still good enough entertainment to keep around.

Although, that wasn't to say she didn't still find ways to test him, almost to the point where he felt all too tempted to resort to other methods of breaking her. Because he could have broken her, easily, if he had wanted – locked her in the basement for a while, spent a day or so abusing her in some other way, even making more usage of threats to her family would have been quickly successful work – but these were things any common man was capable of. There was no need to employ a common man's scare tactics when Crane could clearly see past Evie's attempted "tough girl" facade. At the core, she was weak – he could choose not to lift a finger to her; she would eventually break on her own. There wasn't any doubt about that.

He continued to bring her to court with him. At first, he liked doing it for the way it put the fear in her, without him even having to do anything directly toward her to instill it – but she soon began identifying with the whole process. Typical reaction formation. Crane tested her right back in different, subtle ways as well, slowly gauging her reactions, waiting for her to slip up, let go. He was nothing if not a patient man; taking pleasure in watching her grow more listless as the days passed.

Even as Evie was trying to hardest too keep up her anger, her defiance, she was fading fast – like a candle sputtering at the end of it's wick. A couple weeks around him and she was already doubting herself, unraveling between sleepless nights and private crying spells. At least, she thought they were private - but Crane was always watching, always listening, always aware.

It was all in good fun.

Evie took a break from the courtroom in Crane's chambers. Sitting on the edge of his desk, she toyed with the pages of yet another book she was attempting to read and sighed. She couldn't seem to focus on anything anymore – every time she looked at a page, the words looked jumbled and strange. She didn't know what was happening to her.

When Crane finally joined her at the end of the day, he simply stood in front of the door for a minute, observing her. Initially, he hadn't thought much of her looks – she was beautiful, he supposed, in the traditional sense – but somehow, in sadness, she was just stunning. He strode over to her, putting a hand of her cheek in what could be construed as a comforting gesture. Evie's initial instinct was to rip in away, but she felt so worn; too weak in the moment to even show that vague hint of force, so instead her hand merely rested on top of his. Crane tilted her head up and kissed her. She didn't respond, he noticed, but neither did she fight. His hands traveled down to her waist, arm soon wrapping around her as her kissed her neck.

Evie had known this was coming – the second their deal was struck it had been an inevitability, a ticking time bomb. She wasn't ready for her time to run out.

"Not here, please."

He moved his lips to her ear. "Why?" His fingertips grazed the sliver of skin between her waistband and shirt hem.

"T-there are people right outside the door..." She stuttered.

"They don't dare to bother me." He growled, his hand traveling further down her stomach, into her jeans, between her legs. She bit her lip as he roughly shoved a finger inside of her, his other hand gripping the hair at the base of her skull as he kissed her again.

"Are you going to try faking anything with me again, Evie?"

She shook her head, her eyes screwed shut.

"Look at me." He hissed.

Slowly, she did.

"Are you going to lie to me?"

"No." she answered.

"Good." Crane pulled his hand away, and Evie blushed hard at the way her body almost ached in protest. He knelt down, unlacing and removing each of her boots. When he stood back up, he hooked his fingers into her waistband, yanking off her pants and underwear in one swift movement. Evie pulled her sweater over her head herself, and removed Crane's jacket as well when he moved back directly in front of her, nudging her legs apart. His hands ghosted up her thighs, her sides, to rest on either side of her face and draw her into a deep kiss. She went along with it, wrapping her arms around his neck. Cooperation wasn't lying, was it?

They pulled away, Crane reaching down to unzip his pants and pull out his cock. He hastily arranged her legs around his waist before taking it in his hand, dragging the head up and down her entrance. Evie looked down in morbid fascination as he sank inside her, clutching onto his shirt. He gripped onto the corners of the desk for leverage as he started to move.

"Lay down." He panted, and she quickly complied. Crane looped his arms around her knees, grabbing her waist and pulling her slightly off the surface. It went deep in this position, causing Evie to grit her teeth and dig her nails into her palm. His glasses began to slip down his face as he pumped hard and fast, causing her breath to hitch in her throat. He came, resting his head on her chest for a moment or two, as Evie tried her hardest not to panic as his cum leaked out of her, pooling onto the floor.

"Let's go home." He said, pushing himself upright and straitening his appearance, pulling his pants back up and running a hand through his hair.

Evie propped herself up on her elbows and winced; her bones ached, she felt disgusting, but more than that – she was angry at herself. Again. She was better than this.

Crane glanced over at her as he shrugged on his jacket. "Come on, get dressed."

She nodded, finally hoisting herself off the desk and slowly pulled each article of clothing back on, thinking of all the ways she could have stopped what had just happened. What had been the point of trying so hard to prove her resilience if she was just going to...give up? Shoving her hands deep into her pockets she stiffly walked past Crane and out the door. He paused for a moment before following her to light a cigarette, grinning as he blew out the smoke from the first drag.


	6. Chapter 6

He wouldn't stop touching her, holding her. Most nights now they even shared a bed, and she was ashamed to admit that she had started sleeping better with him beside her. He would brush the curls away from her face as she lay there half-awake.

"Am I still such a monster to you?" Crane would whisper, pressing a kiss to on the nape of her neck.

She had to admit, that was a line between them she had trouble seeing anymore, where the man ended and the monster began. Evie felt herself quickly losing the fight, points stacking up against her every time he brushed his fingers over her arm, pressed her to his chest. Crane paid careful attention in watching her unfold, enjoying how she steadily began to react less and less volatile toward him. First would come compliance, soon this would be her natural state, little by little, until she believed these to be her real feelings and actions.

"Don't we have a nice home here?" he would whisper, his hands running up her legs, stopping at her knees so her could pull them apart and settle between them. She wouldn't even flinch at the hardness against her thigh.

"Aren't I good to you?" Her arms would circle around his neck as he looked down at her through half-lidded eyes, inching his way inside. Stubble scratched at her skin as he gradually thrust harder and harder.

"Don't I take care of you?" The pace would slow down as he slipped a hand down her belly, to the place just above where their bodies met. teasing the tender flesh there. She would involuntarily buck into his hand, grinding against his cock, Crane sighing in pleasure at her reaction, giving her a satisfied smile that should have made her feel sick to her stomach. Evie moved with him, feeling the heat build up deep inside her.

"Don't I?"

"Yes." She whispered back, almost serenely as stars burst behind her eyelids. He joined her over the edge, and together they landed back into a world she felt she didn't understand anymore.

Some nights it really didn't seem all that bad.

But there were other nights where she felt beyond any sort of comfort, and on those nights, she wandered the house in an almost trance-like state, glassy-eyed and lethargic.

Crane had never explicitly told her that the basement was off-limits, but it had never really crossed her mind before to go down there anyway. No one really goes to the basement unless they have to, plus she had been taught through various horror films that psychopathic men usually kept something incriminating or disgusting (usually both) in basements anyway – but as the only room in the house she hadn't had the chance to explore to death, Evie felt that it seemed was as good a time as any.

She flicked on the light. It smelled musty, but not necessarily bad. Chances of her finding rotting corpses shrank down a bit. Comforting.

Surprisingly, it wasn't very crowded with junk, as most basements are apt to be. There was the furnace, a neat corner of Christmas decorations, an equally tidy (much smaller) corner of camping gear, a large tool container...in fact, most of the boxes taking up space looked newer, like they had been placed down there somewhat recently, judging by the thin layer of dust covering their surfaces. They didn't have a place, though, in the way the decorations and the camping gear did; instead they were strewn about the floor in no particular order, as if they had just been tossed down in a hurry and then left. On the far side of the room, was something she recognized – a piano. She weaved her way through the haphazardly-spaced parcels to it, excitedly, but carefully pressing down on each of the keys. Like most of the boxes, it appeared that the basement was a more recent home for the instrument; this became clear by the fact that it still sounded very much in-tune. Evie pulled the stool out from under it and sat down.

Her mother had her take piano lessons for several years as a girl, but even though she was very good at it, she had never really liked it. Piano sounded nice, but it all felt very rigid to her – violin gave off such a nicer feeling when she played. Regardless, she easily slipped back into her old form, to familiar scales. That had been the first time she had thought even briefly about her mother in the last few weeks. She hadn't really thought of anyone from her life. Initially, she had been worried about her sister the most, but soon found it was easier to block everyone she had known from her mind. Suddenly she felt very guilty about how hard she was trying to forget them, and her mind began to wander to things she missed about her family – her mom's intensely competitive attitude toward board games and the outings her dad would randomly take her on when she was supposed to be in school, the secrets swapped with her sister under blanket forts constructed in their shared room – after a bit of this, she realized that last year had been the first Christmas she and her family hadn't gone to see The Nutcracker. That, she decided, would be a tradition she missed the most. It was always a special night in her family: they would all wear posh new outfits and go to a nice dinner, and afterward go home to open a Christmas present early.

Surely she wouldn't have the chance to develop new traditions in her life – with Crane, or anyone else really – there was no way he planned on keeping her for as long as he alluded to. She grew somber at the realization, then started to play Pas de Deux, but obviously it wasn't...the same.

After a few bars, she felt a little annoyed, thinking what a better release it would have been to play it on her violin, where she could really put herself into it. The notes sounded hollow coming from the piano. She played louder, more frantically, until she felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped in her seat.

"I didn't know you played." Crane said softly.

Evie let out a small, relieved sigh. He didn't seem angry. "I thought you knew everything about me."

He sat down next to her, his face holding very little expression for her to read. "Only a few things in some documents – definitely not everything."

"Aren't you going to get bored of me and off me anyway?"

"Don't say that." he scooted closer to her. "I like having a companion like you. Never really had one before."

"Well. didn't you ever have a girlfriend or wife at some point?"

He shook his head. "Not really, no. Relationships like that take time I didn't have, money I didn't want to spend, and emotional involvement of which I have none to offer..."

Evie glanced up at him, but said nothing.

"You're just what I need, Evie." He smiled, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek and turn to face him. "You're sweet, and beautiful...you're good to have." _And so easy to manipulate_, he thought to himself.

The compliment sent a surge of warmth through her; she wasn't used to hearing such nice things about her from him, unaware that it was a carefully applied tactic. He released her face and looked back down at the piano.

"If I had known you played, I would have had this dragged upstairs."

"So it was already down here?" she asked.

"Oh, yes." he nodded. "Pretty sure the wife in this house played. I think she died, or maybe left – all these boxes over the floor are full of her things, all the pictures in the house."

Evie had actually noticed the lack of pictures in a place that so obviously housed a family, but had always just assumed that Crane got rid of them when he took up residence.

"That might explain why they were gone, haven't come back." he continued.

It sort of made sense.

"What were you playing by the way?" he suddenly asked. "It sounded familiar."

"Something from The Nutcracker." she answered simply.

"Ah, Tchaikovsky. Christmas ballet, right? " Crane paused for a moment. "It it supposed to be played...like that?"

"I got sort of distracted, actually. Started thinking about things I shouldn't have."

His expression darkened, ever so slightly, but still enough to set her heart racing. "What sort of things might those be, Evie?"

"Traditions." she admitted – there was no point in hiding it anyway. "I thought about the things I used to do with my family...things I guess I always figured I would do with a family of my own, but I guess I won't get to, now."

"Why not?"

She looked up at him. "I don't really believe that you'll keep me around. I feel like I'm barely making it to tomorrow. Doesn't exactly leave me with the confidence to go on imagining my future or anything." Before she would have said with some level of attitude, but instead her voice sounded hollow and monotonous. It bothered him.

Evie watched as Crane clenched his jaw – an action that had become something of a tell for when he became annoyed or angry – which filled her with a mild sense of panic, her mind racing to think of possible wrongdoing she might have just committed.

But he swiftly spoke up. "What if we went away from here?"

"It wouldn't really matter." she shook her head.

Crane frowned. This was not the type of broken she was supposed to be. She was becoming too...empty. "You could still have a full life." he argued. "You could wind up having a houseful of children to start traditions with if you wanted."

"I don't want them anymore." she whispered through gritted teeth. "I can't."

This wasn't right – she had previously seemed to be past this sort of thinking. He wondered if he had somehow managed to over-estimate her mental capacities, but he was certain he wasn't capable of that sort of flaw. Something had to have triggered her emotional regression, he decided – the piano, perhaps?

After a lengthy silence, Crane reverted the subject. "How long have you played?"

"Hm?" she appeared to snap out of some sort of trance. "Oh, I played for about ten years – I quit, though, to join the string orchestra when I got in high school."

"You sound lovely for having been out of practice for so long."

"You never really forget." she toyed with the keys a little, starting the song over after a few moments of silence. Crane looked on, wondering what could be done to flip on this strange emotional turn she had taken. He thought it would be more rewarding to see her so despondent and hopeless, but after witnessing her being just that, he suddenly decided he didn't like her gloomy. Her withdrawn phase had been all very well in those first few days she had spent with him, but he liked her fighting better – the obedience was nice, sure - it was more fun before, though, more interesting. How to get that fight back? Not just that, but perhaps to turn it into a more...manageable fight, just a hint of her spark back. More playful than angry.

Maybe...maybe she just needed to find him more likable, relatable. Evie hadn't exactly made that an easy task before – but now, as it seemed, her walls were down. At least for the moment.

"Is this a favorite of yours?" he asked.

It was. "This ballet just sort of popped into my mind. I used to see it every Christmas."

"With your family, I'm guessing." Crane watched her carefully.

"Mhmm." she concentrated very hard on the music, hoping it would keep her from looking too guilty.

"We could see it next year, if you'd like."

Unable to hide her surprise from his offer, she noticeably faltered, quickly attempting to play it off. "Ok."

That was enough for the night, he decided. Gently, he grabbed her wrists, moving her hands away from the piano. "Let's go to bed."


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the delay in chaps. My laptop crapped out on me and geek squad took their sweet ass time fixing it -.- my roommate offered me free use of her laptop, but, I mean, who would write fanfic about an abusive, predatory relationship between a middle-aged villain and a teenage girl on a computer that isn't theirs? Not me, so I just used it for homework. I was able to write a bit from my phone - obviously it requires some heavy editing, but I do actually have enough written out that I plan to post a new chap every other day or so for the next week at least. I really want to keep on top of this story and actually finish it.**

It was 10:37.

Evie stared blankly at the clock for a moment or two. That couldn't be right – Crane woke up at 6 sharp every morning, including her into his early-riser routine since the first day she had been there. She pushed herself off the bed and wandered into the hallway.

"Crane?"

"It's Jonathan."

She followed the voice into the living room. "Why didn't you wake me up."

"Lazy Sundays still exist, even in a revolution." he set his book down. Crane was dressed oddly causal – he was always either in a suit or just boxers – so seeing him dressed-down in sweats and a tee seemed almost foreign.

"Well...ok. I'm going to get something to eat." The situation felt off to Evie. True, Crane had never been particularly cruel to her (aside from that first day, of course), but then again he had never bothered to be this nice either. She quickly chided herself for being so suspicious of his behavior – after all, she needed to take this sort of normalcy when she could get it. Although between the night before and, well, now – she couldn't help but feel like he was playing nice for some sinister reason – like how her mother would always act extra sweet toward their cat to gain his trust, right before shoving him in the car and off to the vet. Evie wanted to like the added attentiveness and niceties, but they simply didn't sit right with her. The feeling burned deep inside her.

Crane followed her into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. He worried that perhaps this was too extreme a change for her; she kept casting confused glances at him as she made her simple toast and peanut butter breakfast, choosing to eat it from the counter instead of joining him.

"Well, what are we doing today then?" she finally ventured.

He shrugged. "You can read, we can watch a movie – it doesn't matter."

The crunch of the toast was almost deafening.

"Do you like it here?" he asked.

Evie was unsure of how to answer. She didn't know how exactly she felt about being here anymore - on one hand, she felt almost grateful that she was kept safe, her family being tended to as well - she knew she could have been easily killed, or taken in by much physically crueler men- but she loathed the underlying situation with Crane; the things he did to her : the way he constantly made her doubt herself, the shame she felt for how good he made her feel in bed.

She swallowed her toast. "I suppose." she finally responded, smiling weakly.

Crane stared very hard at her for a moment. "How would you feel about a change of scenery?"

"What, you mean like across town?"

He shook his head. "No. More like out of the city."

Evie let out a dry laugh. "How would we leave? You can't be serious."

"People escape the city every day, Evie."

"Ok...How far do they actually make it, though?"

"Out. As in, completely out." He sighed. "All you need to know is that people still can and do leave Gotham - Bane even knows about it. He lets the few that escape go, as long as they aren't too blatant about it - because they still serve the purpose of spreading fear."

Evie was still a little skeptical. "Alright." she finished off her breakfast, brushing the crumbs into the sink. "I'm going to take a shower." she quickly walked out of the kitchen, Crane staring impassively after her.

In the past weeks, Evie had bounced back and forth between feeling almost at peace with her situation, other days went by in stark, cold unfeeling, others still, though fewer by far, spent in rage, or at least passive aggression - but today was something else. Today didn't seem to be colored by anything in particular - just vague unfamiliarity. A thick fog, rendering her unaware of what was in front of her, around her, when it would dissipate and allow her to see her destination, to know how to feel. The fog permeated every corner of her mind, swirling around win a haze of uncertainty.

The bathroom door clicked behind her. She stared at herself in the mirror for a minute or two. Somehow, in spite of eating much better since being with Crane, she looked much thinner - her sweats hanging much lower on her hips than they had before, her face was a little less full, less childlike. She looked weary and sad - an upsetting combination. Evie turned on the shower and slowly undressed, kicking the clothes into the corner next to the door. Somehow, she was still surprised by the lack of hair brushing against her lower back, as she had been accustomed to for many years. She missed it sometimes - it seems silly to say such a thing about hair, but her has held many fond memories for her - from her mother brushing it, her sister doing it up for her in fun, outrageous styles, to her fathers Goldilocks comments. She loved and remembered all these things fondly, as she fingered through the knots of her short curls before stepping under the spray.

The water felt warm - it should have been relaxing - but that ball of uncertainty in the pit of her stomach refused to subside. She tried to make the connections, find some reason why Crane would suddenly flip his cool demeanor. Or maybe this was the really him, the detached person she had previously know simply a mask. Her mind wandered too far, taking her back to that dark first night with him. Some details felt fuzzy, probably because of the way she constantly tried to make herself forget about it, but one moment was always clear : when she told him how scared she was, and he asked her not to be. That had been the moment where she ultimately slipped up - she remembered the exact tone of his voice as he said it - almost piteously sad. It had ultimately caused her confusion, enough to where she had ceased her struggle, only for a moment, but that was all it had taken. It was all over for her in that moment. Maybe it had been over for him in that moment too, suddenly dropping his guard to reveal someone who, in spite of his reputation, wasn't man who only desired to be feared.

It was an entertaining thought, though seemingly unlikely. In any case, Evie didn't entirely appreciate the change - it only served to remind her how unpredictable Crane was, how quickly everything could change. She sighed and turned off the shower.

He wasn't waiting for her in her room, a much more welcome surprise. She pulled on another pair of sweats and fell onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. This was...ok. Nicer than in the courthouse, at least. No gunshots, screams, cheering, crying...just pure silence for several minutes, until there was a knock on her door. Another first – Crane usually just walked in.

"Come in?"

He entered the room slowly, looking quite satisfied. "I have something for you." Crane sat down next to her on the bed and smiled, handing her a manila envelope and motioning for her to open it.

Inside were a few documents – birth certificate, shot records, high school diploma from someplace upstate – all in the name of 22-year-old Darcy Thomas, and one drivers license with a picture of her she didn't quite recognize that instead read Darcy Sinclair. What ridiculous-sounding names. "I had these made right after you moved in, just in case."

"You do like being prepared." Evie mumbled.

The last item she pulled out was a picture of a house.

"That's an old safe-house of mine on a lake in Washington."

"Washington...state?"

He nodded. "It's a good place for us to start out."

She carefully put the papers back into the envelope, but left the picture. It was a cute house, painted a cheery yellow with a lot of windows, nestled under large fir trees.

"It needs repairs, a fresh coat of paint, and we'll have to get new furniture I guess, but I thought it would made a nice sort of birthday present."

Birthday present? Was it February? She knew the seasons hadn't changed, there was still snow on the ground, but still, somehow her time with him had caused life to move slowly.

"Do you like it?" Crane looked at her, eager and expectant.

"Um, it's nice – beautiful." she corrected, attempting a smile. "When are we going?"

Her reaction wasn't very convincing, but he seemed pleased enough by it. "A day or so, end of the week by the very latest." he pulled her into a hug.

She reacted rather stiffly to the affectionate display. Again, everything changed in an instant – she would be leaving behind the city she had known, well, her whole life. That would be the nail in the coffin – there would be no chance of return, of seeing her family, getting her life back. Those brief glimpses of hope beyond the horizon she worked so hard into fooling herself into thinking existed were gone now. Forever this time. She had to swallow those feelings, though – for now – because there was Crane in front of her, so happy and at ease in a way she hadn't seen him before. If she spoiled this for him, she worried she might never receive this kindness again.

"Hey, um," she began nervously, "I noticed that my stuff has, uh, two different names?"

"Yeah." he replied nonchalantly, releasing her from the hug. "Nothing's official, of course, but it just makes things easier - less conspicuous, I mean - for us to have the same last name."

"Oh." she awkwardly stared down at her hands. "What's your name?"

"Victor."

Victor Sinclair. She suppressed a snort. "That's um, a very...old money name."

He shrugged. "I was young when I created it." Crane got up from the bed and motioned for her to follow.

A new life, new identity...a new home in which the only recognizable thing from her days as Evie Addams would be Crane. Evie shuddered, carefully setting the envelope on the vanity, her fingers lingering on the corner for a moment before heading into the hallway.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey there. My laptop totally died. Instead of dealing with Geek Squad bullshit again, I figured I would just wait for my tax return to come in and buy a new one. Unfortunately, I lost my edited ****work and additions for this fic. Boo. But here's a short chap, and I have another one that I can (hopefully) put up sometime tonight. I also revived the tumblr I made like a year ago, so find me at ~fanficnerdosaurous~ and I'll follow you back and maybe you guys can suggest some blogs to me bc I don't know DICK about that site or what to do there.**

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><p>The day passed in awkward normalcy. They spent a lot of time in the living room, going though The Family's movie collection, Crane left her alone for a few hours to go to the basement, under the guise of orchestrating their escape. Evie wasn't tempted to bother him anyway – she enjoyed having time to herself, for once.<p>

But for now she sat with Crane on the sofa, who had pulled up her legs so they lay across his lap as they watched an old version of Anna Karenina. He rested a hand on her knee, occasionally letting it brush up and down her thigh.

This was a scene she had pictured herself in countless times, always featuring a cute boy whom Evie imagined would meet in one of her college classes, or a bookstore, or who a friend would introduce her to at a party. She liked thinking about such things – two people in love, living in some funky apartment, talking about their dreams of the future as they sat on the couch, watching old movies exactly the way she was right now with Crane.

Reality has a funny way of dashing a young girls dreams.

The truth was, Evie would have given anything for this to feel as normal as it looked. To feel like she was in love, or at the very least happy-ish. Weren't the first cases of Stockholm Syndrome irrationally bonded to their abusers within a week? Surely Belle had fallen for the Beast in a much shorter time than she had been living with Crane, so why did she always find herself right back to feeling this way? She didn't consider herself to be a very strong-willed person – if she was, she might have been able to avoid this situation entirely.

Evie reached out to tug on Crane's shirt until he laid down with her, his head on her stomach. He sighed contentedly, closing his eyes, the tips of his lashes touching the tops of his cheeks. She hesitantly ran her fingers through his hair, feeling his body become more relaxed. She smiled a little, in spite of herself. This was...nice.

"I think I'll put in one more day, then we can leave." he told her, eyes still closed. "Pack a small go bag – your backpack should serve fine - with that envelope and a few changes of clothes. Nothing else."

"Ok." she bit her lip. "Are you ever going to tell me how we're leaving?"

"You'll know soon enough." he hooked an arm around her thigh, as he turned onto his side to watch the movie again.

* * *

><p>Evie couldn't sleep. She had been staring at the clock for hours now, unable to get up due to the fact that Crane was always bound to wake up not long after she had. And so she had continue to lay in bed, watching the red numbers on the bedside clock intently, no sounds in the room save for Crane's rhythmic breaths into her shoulder, nothing to entertain her but her bleak thoughts of the future – because this had to be a trick. Perhaps there really was a funky lake house in Washington Crane was planning to go to, but he couldn't be serious about taking her. How will I die? she wondered. A watery grave, like his aristocratic victims? No, she would be more personal to him – torture seemed the likelier route. Then she remembered that Crane actually had never been much of a killer during his prime as a villain, so yes, definitely torture.<p>

She sighed, drumming her fingers against the mattress, until, finally, it was 5:30. Early enough for the possibility of alone time, but close enough to their usual wake-up time where Crane wouldn't be too annoyed at getting up to find her. She slowly shimmied herself under his arm, then off the bed.

The girls room was as charming as ever, with its twinkle lights, and soft blue walls with all the pictures strung up onto it depicting such happy times. She picked up the envelope from the vanity and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking the corner of it with her thumb and wondering once again if its contents could be real, if her life as Darcy Sinclair was really beginning tonight. Her backpack sat in the far corner of the room – untouched since her second day. Inside was still the jeans and sweaters from her first attempt at getting away. They would do. She slipped the envelope in with the clothes and exited the room, heading down to the kitchen for a nice, quiet breakfast with herself.

The bagel didn't seem to taste like anything – Evie realized she didn't actually feel very hungry at all. She folded her hands in front of her and stared out the window for a long time, watching the pink and gold spreading across the sky. After a while she heard noises upstairs – Crane was awake, but she didn't feel bothered to move. Just continued to sit there, with her hardly touched breakfast in front of her. The coffee maker turned on.

Crane appeared in the doorway after a few minutes, in his usual disheveled suit. The seams were coming apart in the other arm now. She noticed he had skipped his shower, which left his hair looking a little greasier than normal, but had still bothered to trim down his stubble.

"Good morning." he walked smoothly past her and strait to the coffee, pouring her a mug as well and setting it down in front of her hand before taking a seat next to her. He always put butter in their coffee. It was strange, and made the coffee taste oddly rich, but Evie had actually come to really like it. She accepted the mug, taking a long a sip, waiting for him to put his down before asking him something.

"Are we...really leaving today?"

"Looks that way." he answered. "Did you pack your bag?"

Evie nodded. "It's by the door."

Crane noticed the expression on her face, one that he knew all too well: fear. It was intoxicating, but still not something he wanted to deal with so early. He smiled warmly, taking her face in his hands. "Everything will be fine." gently, he kissed her.

Evie blushed. She wanted to trust him – she wanted this to be real and wonderful and stop feeling stupid and pathetic and helpless. She smiled back at him as his thumb brushed across her cheek.


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm going to stop promising shit for this story because I feel like it always bites me in the ass whenever I do it and I just come out looking like a dick.**

**Sorry, but I kept go over this chapter and re-writing junk because I wanted the escape to seem, you know, believable. Or at least not lazy. I think I succeeded.**

* * *

><p>Crane was anxious to leave. He was very nearly tempted to leave at lunch, but his plan was set at nightfall. It would pretty much only work after nightfall, he reminded himself.<p>

So he went through the usual motions for his day: death here, exile there, tell everyone to shut up in-between. And then, toward the end of the day, he found himself with a more...exciting case.

"Commissioner Gordon." he tried not to laugh as he stated it. "Welcome."

"No lawyer," the Commissioner's voice boomed across the courtroom. "no witnesses...what sort of due process is this?"

"Your guilt has been determined – this is merely a sentencing hearing." Crane leaned back in his chair, still fighting the urge to smile. "So what will it be? Death, or exile?"

Gordon's eyes narrowed at him. "Crane, if you think we're going onto that ice willingly, you've got another thing coming."

Crane shrugged. "Death, then."

"Looks that way."

"Very well then – DEATH." Blood pounded in his ears as he brought down the gavel. "By Exile." He watched the Commissioner and his friends as they were dragged out of the courthouse, finally allowing himself a smirk as his body practically shook with excitement. How carthartic it felt to put away a major player in his downfall and incarceration – it was beyond satisfying. He felt lighter than air as he rose from his seat, ignoring everyone he passed as he made his way to his chambers. Evie looked up from her book, suprised to see him.

"Oh, hey. Is it time to go?" She flinched as he slammed the door behind him. Crane looked wild and euphoric and completely terrifying as he approached her, yanking her up from her up from her seat and pulling her toward the couch. Evie tried not to trip as she kicked off her shoes. Then Crane stopped and turned to kiss her, his hands roaming everywhere – in her hair, on her waist, up her shirt – then she felt her body being pressed into the cushions, Crane's glasses slipping off and landing softly on the rug as he climbed on top of her, his face in her neck and one arm drawing her body closer to his. He pushed her legs up until he knees touched her chest, tugging her pants off just enough to roughly shove himself inside her. His movements were hard, rough, and erratic – and ended quickly.

"Now it's time to leave." Crane panted. He rolled off her and walked to the desk to grab his bag

Evie sighed, still a little confused by the random tryst, and yanked her pants back up, grabbing her bag and waiting for Crane at the door, watching him as he patted down his pockets, appearing to be going through some sort of mental checklist before stalking past her and out of the room. She trailed a ways behind him, as usual, ignoring the stares and points and whispers that she had long since learned to stop showing her embarrassment for. At least tomorrow she might no longer be That Girl. That Girl who whores herself out to Crane. Yes, That stupid, stupid Girl.

They walked through the building and out onto the street in silence, seemingly headed toward home, but then Crane made a sharp turn three blocks or so from the courthouse, a street leading into an old gated community. Evie felt almost excited being there. This was one of the nicer neighborhoods in Gotham – it had actual houses – with yards encased in white picket fences, pools and trees with tire swings hanging off of them. She had never known anyone who lived in such a neighborhood, so she had never been to one before now. Crane paused in front of a large blue craftsman bearing several broken windows. A massive, icicle-covered willow tree grew on its side.

"Here." he gestured to the house, opening the gate for her. The pathway was cobbled, patches of ice culminating in the crevices of stone that Evie was able to easily avoid, before being greeted by the leaf-strewn porch and agape cherry red door.

Inside was trashed, as most of the nicer houses in Gotham had become, but seemed empty. Crane shut the door and set his case down, rummaging in one of the pockets while Evie looked around.

"Are we meeting someone here?" She asked. "Someone to get us out?" Evie glanced down at the pictures in front of the fireplace, which had no doubt belonged on the mantle. There were a lot of dogs. Somehow, that made this place sadder.

"Well, no." Crane walked past her, strait to the couch, pulling off the throw blanket and smoothing it out onto the floor.

"Ok...then why are we here?" she felt his hand his hand on her shoulder.

Then she felt a sharp prick.

"There you go..." Crane murmured, quickly tossing the syringe aside and drawing out another from his pocket.

Evie froze. She hadn't expected that. She brought a shaking hand to her side where the needle had stuck her, wondering what this would do to her. For a brief moment, she thought it could be a sedative – feeling her limbs growing heavy and her thoughts sluggish – but then, suddenly, there was only pain.

Not just pain, but searing agony. It felt like her veins were tying up in knots, blood boiling so hot she swore she felt her skin bubbling, melting and sliding off her muscles, her organs were shredded through with rusty serrated knives. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. Then she panicked; she couldn't breathe, and she clawed at her throat until her fingers became slick with blood, the red running down her chest, seeping into her shirt.

It should have been a more uncomfortable ordeal to watch, but not to Crane. It was hard to feel guilty when he he found it just so _interesting_. Such a range of reactions, of emotions – the scientist in him just couldn't help but be fascinated. He observed a few more seconds of it before calmly walking over to her, pulling her hands away from her neck and gripping her into a tight embrace, making sure her arms were properly pinned between them before giving her the sedative. Once her body went slack, he gently lowered her onto the blanket on the floor, taking a quick moment to check her pulse (decent) and survey her injuries. Shallow surface wounds; they would heal up in a week in so. He sighed and stood up, shucking off his worn suit coat and removing his glasses, carefully putting them each into the backpack, before walking over to the nearest mirror to put in contacts, which quickly changed his eyes to brown – close enough in shade to Evie's to where they might pass as related, as he needed the people he was meeting tonight to believe – and finally made sure all his hair was properly tucked into his hat. He would be unrecognizable enough; at the very least he looked just the right amount of different to where people more familiar with his image would merely feel uncomfortable and confused, but not outright attempt to accuse him of being who he was.

Kneeling at her side again, he gingerly wrapped the blanket around her and lifted her up.

* * *

><p>The port was deserted, as he expected. He quickly spotted the blue light. The ground was salted here, a loud, wet crunch sounding off with each step, but Crane was calm and unfettered. As he drew closer to the light, he suddenly heard footsteps behind him.<p>

"Excuse me."

Crane turned around, replacing his calm demeanor with a mask of slight terror. "Is the medic boat still here?" he did his best to sound panicked.

"Whoa there," the man stepped a little more into the light, revealing himself to be a pale and portly fellow with a patchy beard. "who wants to know?"

"Please, please my daughter needs help." he even managed to make his voice crack a little.

But the man appeared to have spotted the blood on the blanket – quickly becoming very serious, his previous suspicion dropped. "Okay buddy, let's get her to the medic – hurry now." he ushered them across the way. "What's your name, guy?"

"Uh, Eddy." Crane answered shakily.

"Eddy, alright, I'm Chris. Now – did you try taking your daughter to the hospitals first?"

Crane nodded. "No hospital has the stuff right now to figure out what was wrong, treat her...A - a nurse told me to come here."

"Okay, okay, I believe you, Eddie." Chris guided him up a ramp and into a small house boat, opening the door for him. "Jay," he called out, "hey I got someone for you to check out. Just set her down on the table right there, Ed, nice and easy."

He kicked a chair out of the way to lay Evie down as he was instructed. The medic emerged from the back room, a man so tall he was forced to hunch into the cramped main room, with long, neatly pulled-back locs.

"This is Eddy." Chris explained. "His daughter is sick."

Jay wordlessly crossed the room and over to the table, gently pulling the blood-stained blankets off of Evie. His eyes widened – her skin had become sickly pale, her veins swollen and straining against the surface, other areas sporting unusually large bruises. The medic pulled out a light to shine into her eyes, one of which had filled with blood. "She made these herself?" He asked Crane, gesturing to the scratches on her neck.

"I think maybe she was hallucinating." Crane answered breathlessly, trying not to look as in awe as he felt as he watched Jay continue to check Evie. "And those bruises weren't there an hour ago."

"Her lungs sound clear of fluid at least, thank god - good pulse too if you can believe it. I definitely think there's some internal bleeding though, maybe a small hemorrhage causing her eye to stroke out like that, but – shit – I don't know what to think of the rest of her. I swear to you, I have never seen or read anything that matches up to all of this: she needs an ER now." he pulled the blanket back over Evie. "Normally kids her age go alone, but her doctors are gonna need you."

Chris spoke up. "Did the nurse tell you to bring documents? Birth certificates, ID's, all that?"

"Yeah." Crane nodded. "Yeah, they're in my bag."

"Good, good – once we take you across, there's no coming back. You got change?"

"I have cash."

"Ok so we'll give you some change." Chris walked out, presumably to un-dock the boat.

"Sorry, we can't risk using the radio to have an ambulance waiting." Jay said. "You'll have to use a pay phone once we get there, and just wait outside the marina. They've been keeping one near the docks lately though – she won't be waiting more than five minutes, I guarantee it."

The boat swayed ever so slightly as they slowly made their way out of the port.

"I understand." he said glumly. "Where does this boat go?"

"Bridgeport." Jay responded as he took a seat. "It takes about an hour, but I'm sure Chris will try to see if he could cut that time down for you, given the, um, nature of this illness."

Crane wandered over to the unconscious Evie, suppressing a smile as he tucked a curl behind her ear.

_Perfect._


	10. Chapter 10

**So one thing that super annoys me in Batman Begins is that when Bruce gets gassed with Cranes fear toxin, Fox is just magically able to completely deconstruct this unknown poison (where the main ingredient is a flower that only grows halfway around the world) and create an antidote in like a day. I'm a stickler for scientific factuality, and my annoyance and the lack of it in movies really shows for a second here.**

**Anyway, blah blah blah, got busy with life, but here's a new chapter. **

* * *

><p>Everything hurt. Evie felt almost paralyzed to the table she lay on, acutely aware of every muscle, every cell her body contained pinning her down with pain.<p>

She continued to lay there for several minutes, contemplating an attempt to get up, or at least look around. Had they even made it out of Gotham? Where was Crane? The more she lay there, the more she became aware of other things: the needles in her arm, the heart monitor, she heard traffic - horns and police sirens and planes – which helped her conclude that they definitely weren't in Gotham anymore.

After much inner debate, she forced her eyes open. It was like slowly peeling off a scab.

It was...a motel room. That much was clear by the beige wallpaper and thick, ugly drapes. She wanted to push herself up, survey her surroundings a little better, but she felt like the slightest movement could cause her to rip open.

"Oh, you're awake."

Evie doubted she had regained enough control in her face to glare, but she tried valiantly anyway. "Where are we?" Her throat was raw, each syllable scratched its way out like sandpaper against a peeled orange. "What...did you do to me?" She could feel his presence nearby, but was too angry to look in his direction.

"Bridgeport." Crane answered briskly. "And, well, first I gave you an altered version of an old biological warfare experiment – think Resident Evil, I guess – except you would stay dead. If you died. But I was positive you wouldn't." He sounded almost giddy, making the situation even more unnerving.

"Well thank fuck for that."

"No apparent loss in quick-thinking skills..." She heard him mumble, along with the scratch of pen against paper which for whatever reason sounded much too loud.

"Is that really necessary?"

"Yeah." The clicks of pen seemed equally deafening. "I wouldn't be a scientist if I didn't write the results of my experiments down, Evie."

She grit her teeth. "I am not an experiment."

"Anyway," Crane ignored her, "the second was a sedative, with just enough antidote as insurance to keep the first shot from killing you."

"Couldn't you have just made something that wouldn't have almost killed me?" Evie lamented. "Or just not have tried to kill me at all?"

"Honestly I wasn't sure I wanted rest the whole escape plan on the shoulders of your acting skills – believe me, this was the easiest, and believe it or not, the safest way." He knelt down beside her; she could feel his breathe against her neck. "And I'm going to let you in on a little something that will ruin every sci-fi movie for you, forever, and that is: you can't just made shit like this in a day. It's true. It doesn't matter how genius or talented you are, or how unrestricted your resources are – it just doesn't happen." His shoes squeaked against the floor as he stood back up, his hands sliding under her back and forcing her upright.

It actually wasn't as painful as she anticipated – her muscles were weak and her skin tingled, but it was more like moving after sleeping in a bad position, or even flu fatigue, rather than her body violently ripping apart at the seams and spilling her entrails onto the cheap carpet like she had previously anticipated.

She looked at Crane, just for a moment. He was shaven and showered, already in new clothes, making Evie feel even worse, convinced that she currently represented the withered human embodiment of a piece of beef jerky.

"Rate your pain."

"I don't know...6-ish?"

Crane continued through the motions of a dull and average checkup while Evie stared blankly at the wall behind him. Lastly, he asked her to stand – which she did – an overwhelming sense of vertigo cause her legs to buckle, but she was able to steady herself and stand without support as he requested.

"You appear to be perfectly fine, you'll just have to wear a scarf for a few days is all."

"Scarf?" Evie's hands flew to her throat, her fingertips tracing over the long, thin scabs, and she remembered how they got there. Her anger quickly faded, the blood draining from her face.

In Crane's earliest taunts he had threatened the use of his fear toxin; she had been rather unperturbed by it, still being full of false confidence and all - but now, as her memory suddenly flooded with the unbridled terror and pain from the night before, she cautiously wondered if that threat could still be valid? Maybe he was saving it for the right time and place...the right purpose. The thought suddenly made her nervous. Honestly, she often found herself forgetful of his past. Due to her unfortunate first-hands accounts, Evie knew what a twisted, awful person Crane could be, but it was somewhat difficult to imagine him torturing on a larger scale, running drug rings and being flocked by henchmen – although, she supposed most sociopaths tended to appear to be perfectly normal, charming people.

Crane carefully removed the needles from her arm. "Do you think you could stand on your own in the shower?"

She nodded. "Yeah I'll be fine."

"Good. I'm sure you'll feel much better once you're clean."

_Doubtful_, she thought to herself, but walked unsteadily to the bathroom anyway, fighting not to collapse onto the linoleum as she shut the door behind her. That had been a more draining feat than she expected. She almost jumped out of her skin when she saw her reflection: her hair was greasy, a mushroom of knotted bedhead sticking out, one of her eyes looked strangely bloodshot, and then there were the scratches - bright red and slightly swollen against her sickly pale skin. Gripping the counter with both hands, she inched her way to the shower and turned it on. Her limbs felt heavy and weird – almost similar to how she felt after being given Crane's bio-weapon – and she panicked, dramatically swinging her arm behind her as some odd attempt to prove that she was still retaining control over her body, but knocking over the tray of soaps and mini-shampoo bottles the the process. She winced as they all clattered loudly on the floor, hoping that maybe, perhaps, the running shower would mask it.

But, of course, it didn't, the noise sending Crane rushing through the door, probably thinking she had fainted, but instead finding Evie in her awkward, knock-kneed position against the counter and sighed. He calmly approached her, helping her upright and then proceeded to undress her.

"I can still shower on my own." Evie insisted.

"Fine," he answered curtly, "but I'll be standing right here to make sure you don't hurt yourself."

"Yeah that's your job, I guess." she mumbled, trying not to slip as she kicked off her jeans. Crane pursed his lips in annoyance at the comment, but said nothing as he guided her into the tub, making sure she was steady before stooping down to pick up the dropped bottles from the floor and set them down withing her reach before leaning back against the counter. Evie felt a little better, at least, the hot water feeling lovely against her achy muscles. She sat on the floor to give her weak legs a rest as she attempted to finger through the wad of matted curls on the side of her head, eventually settling for just dumping the whole bottle of conditioner and hoping for the best for when she attempted to brush it out later. Curly hair pretty much always looks knotted to hell anyway. For a while she just sat under the spray, hoping that maybe Crane would get bored waiting for her and leave, but who was she kidding? When she finally gave up and turned off the water, he was right there to hoist her back up, wrap a towel around her, and cautiously lead her to the bed. He pulled out a fresh set of clothes out of her backpack, and Evie bit her tongue, trying not to scowl at him as he helped dress her, finally knotting a thick grey scarf around her neck.

"I was going to have you walk around for a bit," he said, pulling her up a bit more to sit on the edge of the bed, "but you're obviously not as well as you told me you were."

"I did feel fine." she asserted. "It was just when I got to the walking part."

"Mhmm." Crane slipped his bag strap over his shoulder before putting on her backpack. "We might as well leave now." he reached out a hand to her and she took it, standing up only to lean against him as they walked outside.

It felt weird to be in a noisy, functioning city again. Everything seemed to shine, the atmosphere was lighter – there was traffic and people yelling and children running. How strange to think that everyone here was so untouched by the mayhem just across the water, going on with their lives as if nothing was wrong, and Evie found herself sort of resenting them for it. Didn't anyone care about what was happening?

They stopped at a green SUV with California plates.

"We're stealing a car, really?"

"No, I _already_ stole a car." He set their things in the back while Evie took her place in the passengers seat.

"Are we driving all the way there?"

"Unless you would like to be put down for another eight hours, yes." Crane looked tired and exasperated, and Evie wondered if he had stayed awake the whole time she was recovering.

"I would be good." she mumbled.

"We're driving." he snapped.

Evie didn't know that Crane was nervous. Not of being caught, but worrying that she might come to realize he had less power outside of Gotham. He had left behind his connections, and therefore the threats against her family were null and void; for a few days, at least, she couldn't be subjected to the same level of isolation as he had kept her. He knew it would only take one careless slip-up, and she could be gone in an instant. Evie was not the brightest bulb, he knew that, but her emotions has made her quite the unstable experiment: some days she was docile and content, and a rare, erratic few she would lash out with anger or sadness. Although, not once had she ever really blamed him for anything. Even today, after being woken up do discover she could have nearly died, she responded rather passive aggressively to the situation, seeming much more occupied (and annoyed) with the fact that she was stumbling around like Bambi rather than focusing on the bigger picture: which was that he had purposely injected her with a dangerous, borderline-deadly disease in order to smuggle them out of Gotham and into a life with him: her tormentor, abuser, man who took her from her family and all that. Evie had simply told him his plan felt a little extreme, only vaguely hinting to blame him for what he had done.

Either way, Crane didn't much care for the few present unexpecteds, and paired with the lack of sleep from the previous night he had suddenly become quite irritable.

They drove to the freeway in silence.

Until Evie spoke up. "What are we going to do when we get there?"

He sighed. "I don't know...survey the house for repairs, probably order some new furniture."

"Why don't we just go out and buy new furniture?"

Crane shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"I just thought it was something...people do." by people she meant couples, which, in the strangest of terms, she figured they sort of were. "Do you think I've forgotten how to interact with normal society or something?" These were comforting statements to Crane – ones that showed that her mind was still very far from thoughts of possible escape.

"It's not that." he said quickly. "It's just...we're going to be on the road for a few days at least, and I didn't exactly think you would want to immediately travel some more."

She accepted the answer. "Alright." She went back to drumming her fingers on her thigh, the melody for a piano scale practice playing in her head. "So why Washington? Are you from there?"

"No." Crane frowned. "I actually chose Washington because of its complete lack of connections to me."

"Well that's very clever of you, I guess." Evie stretched out uncomfortably in her seat. "Where are you from, then? I feel like you're not from Gotham."

"I'm not."

Evie looked crossly at him. "You're setting me up for a very boring 50 years, you know. What am I supposed to tell people when they ask me about you?"

He shrugged. "Make something up and I'll go with it. Maybe you don't remember, but we're not actually supposed to be us."

"Fine." She remembered the California license plates on the SUV. "I'll tell everyone how the _Sinclair's_ are from _San Francisco _and that you're a computer programmer. Have fun dealing with neighbors constantly asking you to fix their crap."

"That's actually really good." Crane said. "A fake career that gives me the perfect work from home excuse."

Evie rolled her eyes, sinking back into her seat to pout. "I'll make them think you like being called 'Vic' too."

This was good. She was cooperating – sarcastically, of course, but it was still cooperation. Crane felt calm again, although slightly unnerved that she had asked about his childhood. He had been part of so remarkably few relationships that he had quite forgotten that at some point ones past becomes up for discussion. He would have to find some way to derail that curiosity. For now, though, he could relax with the knowledge that, so far, everything was going right.


End file.
